The Boy Who Touched The Stars I
by vspar042
Summary: What happened to Peter after Wendy left? A story of a love so strong, it overcame all odds.
1. Chapter 1

**The Boy Who Touched the Stars**

_Prologue_

There comes a time when one must make a choice that will forever determine the course of their life. It is a time to put past things behind and look forward to the new experiences that await them. This choice does not happen at any given age, nor are most people ever aware of its coming, but there are a few – that handful of really special people – who have seen and experienced things most people only dream of.

They are the ones for whom this change makes the most difference because it signifies the giving up of all they have ever believed in, lived and known. It is the end of childhood fantasy, when dreams are relegated to the realm that is half-way between sleeping and waking up – the place where living seems the most sweet, and troubles the most few. That is the realm of Neverland.

I am one of those people, that special few. Once upon a time, in what feels like another time and place, I met the boy that would forever change my life. He was not someone that most would find agreeable. Cocky, rude and horribly vain, he was, quite possibly, the most self-centered person I had ever met. However, his charms were numerable, and helped one to stomach his character flaws.

True, most were used for the general purpose of causing mischief and creating strife, but every now and then – just for a moment – I would see something like a flash in his eyes, a glint of determination, of purpose, of anger, or of passion. These were rare instances and could only be caught if one was looking very closely, which, of course, I always was.

I can't remember his face now. Sometimes I can't even recall his name. Most often, he seems to have been a shadow, forever fleeting – always slipping out of my grasp when I have just touched the surface of his memory. Many days I am half-convinced that I dreamed all of our adventures in that far-off world. You see, as one grows up – whether they want to or not – they begin to forget. Vivid memories fade to watercolor; faces that were once so clear smudge into intelligibleness like a sidewalk painting after the rain.

My brothers say that they never happened – that all of it was in my head. I always did have the most imagination of the three of us. How _could_ those things happen? Flying through the night sky, fighting pirates and Indians, and a boy who touched the stars …inconceivable, really…if I was being honest – which I seldom am. Their arguments tend to sway me for the moment, and I agree that those things could never have happened, that fairies don't exist. I forget about him then, that wonderful, confusing boy. I go on with living, day to day, hour upon hour.

Then, all of a sudden, I see something – a shock of red hair, a face that triggers a memory; I hear a whimsical tune that recalls better days filled with laughter and childish happiness. Then, it's gone and I am left here. Alone – with nothing but half-remembered dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 1_

Wendy Darling had always been a fanciful child.

Many people would have described her as having her head constantly in the clouds. Her dream-world was her escape from life.

So much so that sometimes she began to believe that her dreams actually came true. As she grew up, she learned that having an imagination was not something society was fond of, especially since she was a woman.

Although she was a dreamer, she was an obedient one and forever strived to mold herself into an acceptable form for society. She learned how to walk, talk, eat, and even think like society expected. Most of the time she got along very well, for Wendy was an extremely pretty girl and many are willing to overlook the faults of the beautiful.

But when she was alone in her room with time to spare, one could watch the most intriguing pantomimes. Sword fights, Indian dances, and what could only be a parody of someone flying through the sky were all acted out in her tiny room with the balcony. You see, Wendy refused to leave her old nursery. Once her brothers were well on their way to growing into fine, strapping young men, Wendy had made the room her personal domain.

This was the one place where she could truly be herself. The room was girlishly decorated on the whole, due to her mother's influence and Wendy's love herself of pretty things, but there were also the random oddities. Play pirate swords made by a child's imagination, a thimble collection of all different shapes and sizes, and half-finished drawings that looked to be the same boyish figure except one could never tell because the face was left unfinished.

From her sanctuary's windows, Wendy had the most spectacular view of the night sky. The constellations became her friends, and she never felt more at home than when she was looking at them.

"If I could wish for anything," she thought one night, "It would be to live among the stars. For I am sure that their world is a far more magical place than the one that I am living in now. Just look at them! So beautiful against the midnight sky, always twinkling merrily…yes, I am sure that only fairies live among the stars, for who else would be able to compete with their beauty?

"Humph! Fairies! Listen to me. I sound like an old granny telling a story to little ones. Of course there are no such things as faeries. But-I wish there was. I used to believe there was. In fact I'm certain that once I saw... No, not again with the crazy talk, Wendy! It wasn't real. John and Michael both say so, and they wouldn't lie about a grand adventure such as that. Besides, shouldn't I remember it more? Once it was so clear, but now it seems that I remember less and less every day."

It was true. Every day she remembered fewer things about her time spent in Neverland until, finally, she could remember it no more.

The years passed, and Wendy grew into a daughter any mother would be proud to have. Accomplished and beautiful, she could mesmerize an audience with her stories. Many a young caller was captivated by the mischievous twinkle in her eye that hinted at her fun-loving, adventurous nature. She was, in all manners, a well- accomplished lady. Yet, as the years went by, she found herself growing restless, as if something magical was just around the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wendy Moira Angela Darling, if you do not put down that book this instant and talk to me, I am afraid I shall perish from lack of attention!" shrilled the elegant matron sitting primly on the corner of her velvet embroidery chair.

"Mother, I fail to see how my feeble attempts at conversation about the latest Paris fashions should cause to suffer anything more than a slight headache, least of all cause for you to perish in such a silly manner." Wendy sighed from her spot on the window seat, her eyes never leaving her book.

"It is my duty to share my vast expanse of knowledge with you, seeing as you have taken no initiative to do so yourself, and really darling, how else do you expect to maintain civil relations with the other young ladies of your station? Why, Clara Pennington's mother was telling me just the other day about how her daughter's gown was the height of Paris fashion! Surely you noticed at her garden party last week?"

"No mother, I was too conscious of her complete disregard for her servants when she thought that none of the others were around."

"There you go again, always with the servants' rights and championing of the helpless. Really dearest, it's all fine and well for a young lady of your station to have a sensitive heart, or at least pretend to, but enough is enough! Ever since you were a child, you've taken in every stray thing that came to our door; dogs, cats, mice, rats…oh, the rats…even some lost boys! Truly, Wendy- compassion can only go so far!"

That caused the young girls head to pop out from the pages of her book. No other cause did Wendy like to champion more than the usefulness of her "Lost Boys", named so because they were all orphans that the Darling family had taken in and found homes for.

"Now mother really, that's almost unfair, especially about the boys. You know you enjoyed having them around the house doing odd jobs here and there until we found them a family or a suitable apprenticeship." Wendy said languidly, a smile lurking about the corners of her mouth, remembering those days of constant laughter and sunshine, when her house seemed more like a child's fantasy playground than the prison she now knew it to be.

"Well, I cannot deny that those boys did come in useful on some occasions…and were slightly amusing…in their own way. But one successful instance does not mean that you can continue on in this manner." Her mother paused. "Any young gentleman of proper breeding would not find this behavior attractive, no indeed! They would all agree with me that you are much too tenderhearted and headstrong for your own good."

The smile was gone now; the book lay closed on Wendy's lap.

"Mother, I would kindly ask for you to cease prattling on about this topic. It will grant you no favors with me."

"Well, I don't know why you are so touchy about it! I mean, it is every other girl of your age's earnest desire to build a household of their own, so why not yours? Why do you snub me every time I approach this topic? For years I have been patient, biding my own time, not saying a word, not expressing my opinion unless I felt it was absolutely necessary and how am I repaid? A daughter who would rather be outside playing in the dirt than pouring tea or taking fencing lessons rather than dancing lessons. A daughter who isn't…well…"

"A daughter who isn't … what? Normal? Well, so sorry to disappoint you mother." Wendy's green eyes flashed as she stood up from her seat. "I'm sorry that I am not like all of the other girls my age, though heaven knows I have tried to be. I'm sorry that I think fashion is a waste of time or that I long to have a meaningful conversation with someone of my own age, not this meaningless drivel that so many empty-headed misses seem to spout. I'm sorry that I believe that I deserve to at least _like_ the person I will spend the rest of my life with."

"Is wanting your happiness so much of a crime?" Mrs. Darling protested.

"Not if that is truly what you wished, but I must admit that I do have my doubts on that." Wendy retorted.

"Wendy!" her mother gasped. But Wendy was not through yet.

Standing up and striding towards the door, she finished.

"I am sorry that I never completely measure up to your standards. I will endeavor to ensure that you are not embarrassed by your failure of a daughter when we entertain or go out in public, but in the privacy of my own home I shall be as I choose, which is myself. On that note, I do believe that there are some letters for me to write to my brothers. If you'll excuse me, I shall see to them now." And in a hustle of skirts, Wendy determinedly strode out the door – shutting it firmly behind her.

The tears started falling as soon as she closed the door. Walking as fast as her skirts would allow, Wendy hurried to her room, barely shutting the door behind her when she collapsed, sobbing until her tears were no more.

The streetlights lit up the twilight street with a cheerful glow. Only a few people remained outside during the dinner hour, walking leisurely in front of the picturesque houses. Immersed in their thoughts, they hardly paid any notice to the well-dressed young man leaning on a lamppost, his gaze fixated on a window in one of the houses across the street. Most of his face hidden in the shadows of his hat, the young man's mouth was curved into a slight smile as if he found something dreadfully amusing about his view.

"Soon Wendy, I'm coming soon." He whispered, so soft you wouldn't have thought he had spoken unless you saw his lips move. With one last lingering look, he turned on his heel and strode down the street, but not before the light from the lamppost glinted off of his red hair.


	4. Chapter 4

"The thing about London is its predictability," said Wendy as her maid, Anne, finished fixing her hair.

"The skies are gray, the streets usually smell, corsets always hurt, and society expects the same things. Take today, for instance. Every second Friday of April we are expected to attend Mrs. Breighton's ball. The invitations are sent out exactly two weeks beforehand, even though everyone in the ton starts planning their ensembles the day after the previous ball ends. Once we arrive, it's a power play of making sure that you speak to the 'right' people, discuss the correct topics, and try not to cause a scandal for the gossipmongers to talk about incessantly for the next year."

The last comment was the one Wendy had the most trouble with. It seemed like she was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and causing embarrassment to her mother. But honestly, if Lady Pembridge truly did not wish to know exactly how the shade of puce she was wearing looked with her sallow complexion, then she should not have asked, should she?

"La, miss – is it really as bad as all that? When your mother tells about the party, it sounds almost magical!" Anne rhapsodized as she made the last touches and stepped back to survey her handiwork. "Beautiful ladies dressed up in equally beautiful gowns, eating those pretty little cakes that Cook despises making, and handsome gentlemen waltzing gracefully around the room."

As much as she could manage, Wendy shook her head back and forth in a chiding manner. "Anne, Anne, Anne" She chided, "One day I wish you the unfortunate pleasure of attending one of these parties. Maybe then you will be cured of your fanciful impressions.'

"In reality, it is a bunch of aristocratic men and women standing around making small talk while silently judging the other, eating pretty little cakes that have no effect on your actual appetite, trying to breathe while wearing a corset and being whirled around a stuffy room at a pace that makes your head swim."

Anne paused; brush in hand, as if thinking that over. "No," she shook her head. "I think I shall keep my 'fanciful impressions' as you say. They are much happier than the story you tell." She smiled as she brushed the last curl in place. "There you go, miss – all nice and smooth. I tell you what, that hair of yours would give many a maid nightmares, what with half of it wanting to curl this way and the other that way. Why, it's as stubborn as you are, to be sure!"

"But you are such a masterful dear that my hair obeys your every whim!" Wendy smiled cheekily at her maid through the mirror. "I'm lucky to have you, and I know it."

Anne sniffed, "Well, you best not forget it! Now, let's get you into this beautiful creation that your mother bought the other day before she comes up here in one of her moods and spoils everything. I'll not let all my hard work go to waste!"

Her gown was part of the newest line from the house of Worth. The main body of the dress was a layer of silk colored in a deep sapphire hue. Floor-length, the front pulled up in waves to reveal the pale blue silk underskirt. Embroidered with clusters of sapphire forget-me-nots, the underskirt was magnificent in its delicate beauty.

As she gently slid it off of its hanger, Anne sighed. "Every time I look at this dress, I think of princesses and fairies."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Nonsense, you goose. There's no such thing as fairies and you know it. It is impossible, improbable, and- and all those other words that mean there isn't any way they could possible exist," she said as she struggled with buttoning tiny row of pearl buttons in the back of the dress.

Anne slapped her hands away, as they were making quite a mess of the buttons. "Oh poo, I think that you just need to have a bit more imagination. Just because no one has ever seen a fairy doesn't mean that they don't exist! You can't see the wind; does that mean it isn't there?" she asked smugly.

"The wind, dear Anne, has been scientifically proven by some of the greatest minds in history to exist. Whereas fairies, on the other hand, are fanciful imaginations of dewy-eyed, sops of men who have nothing better to do with their time than to make up silly stories that give empty-headed women something to rhapsodize about." Wendy said emphatically.

"I fear that this is just one of those times where we shall have to agree to disagree then ma'am." Anne smiled at her mistress as she fastened the last of the buttons. "There now, aren't you as pretty as a picture? Sit back down and let me put the finishing touches on your hair. Then you can go down." she ordered.

"Aye, aye, mon capitain!" Wendy said playfully, giving Anne a mock salute.

Anne rolled her eyes. "If that's how you treat everyone who gives you an order, no wonder your mother is having fits!"

"Oh no, dear. I only save that for extra special people." she said innocently.

"Sit!"

Wendy meekly sat down at the vanity table and watched Anne fuss about trying to find the exact right accessory to finish off the gown. It was hard for her to think o Anne as anything less than her best friend. They had transcended the maid/ mistress roles long ago.

When two young, lonely girls are forced to spend a lot of time together when they are growing up, they will either grow to resent the other or love them. For these two, it had been the latter. Wendy couldn't imagine her life without Anne's cheerful disposition everyday. Having a friend, no matter her social standing, was a comfort.

"Ah ha! This will do nicely!" Anne finally came out of the world of accessory planning long enough to show Wendy what she had picked. Her eye for fashion was truly remarkable, which was a blessing because Wendy's was abysmal.

In her hands she held a simple pearl necklace with matching pearl drop earrings. she also had a curious arrangement of white and blue feathers.

"If you're going to make me look like a bird, at least let me know before-hand." Wendy said teasingly.

"Hush. You know I can make it look good. Now, don't move!" Commander Anne was back.

Wendy obeyed, for the most part. Sitting still was not her forte. finally everything was in order and she was ready to go to the ball.

Anne sighed rapturously, surveying her handiwork. "Now, don't go and be ruining my handiwork! You look beautiful and now it's up to you to act that way!"

"Yes ma'am. I shall try to mind my p's and q's. Thank you dearest, it looks lovely" Wendy said, patting her curls one last time.

"Off with you then! Off to the ball!"


End file.
